


Hot for Teacher

by MercyBraavos



Category: Psych
Genre: Alternate Universe, Alternate Universe - College/University, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Henry Spencer's A+ Parenting, M/M, Sexual Tension, Slash
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-10-19
Updated: 2016-10-27
Packaged: 2018-08-23 08:11:42
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 7,623
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8320477
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/MercyBraavos/pseuds/MercyBraavos
Summary: Professor Carlton Lassiter is happy. Divorced yes, but better off. Dog owner. Successful academic. Completely content with his life; its autonomy and freedom...... until Shawn Spencer, beautiful and brilliant, dances into his life and throws the proverbial wrench into the proverbial works.**This fic is on indefinite hold**





	1. See Me After School

**Author's Note:**

  * For [PsychLassieFan4Ever](https://archiveofourown.org/users/PsychLassieFan4Ever/gifts).
  * Inspired by [Home is Where the Hair Is](https://archiveofourown.org/works/5219693) by [trixietru](https://archiveofourown.org/users/trixietru/pseuds/trixietru). 



> OK, so I really wanted to write a long-haired, bearded, bracelet wearing Lassie because I've been prepping for an upcoming Supernatural convention and knowing that I'm going to meet Tim has kinda put my obsession with him into overdrive. Thus, this fic was born. In addition to my general love of TimOm, this story was inspired by TrixieTru who is possibly the best writer in the Shassie fandom. The only way to do a canon long-haired, bearded Lassie is the undercover angle and she nailed that, so I went AU.
> 
> Professor Lassie's class "COMM 146. Understanding and Detecting Human Deception" is a real 100 level, 4 credit class taught at UC Santa Barbara. The objective is to study human deception from the perspective of various branches of law enforcement.
> 
> I have taken minor liberties with the bully/spitball storyline from "And Down the Stretch Comes Murder."
> 
> Bonus points to anyone who catches the two tiny LOST references in this chapter.
> 
> **Lassiter’s dog, Marlowe, is in no way a reference to Kristy Swanson’s character from the later seasons of the show. He is rather a reference to Philip Marlowe, a fictional detective from the works of Raymond Chandler. No disrespect to Psych, Ms. Swanson or Mr. Chandler is intended.**
> 
> Dedicated, as always, to my sister slasher: PsychLassieFan4Ever.
> 
> Hope you enjoy!

“So, who here has played ‘Two Truths and a Lie’?” Professor Carlton Lassiter always preferred starting his first class of any semester off with this game. Harmless though it may have seemed, it actually served as a useful springboard to what was a complex and sometimes frustrating pre-requisite to higher level Psych classes. It also saved him the hassle of doing the stiff, formal first-class roll call. Hoisting himself up on his desk, he stuck his glasses on top of his head, pushing his unruly mane of silver-black hair out of his face.

The small, theatre-style classroom was less than half full this semester, typical for a once-a-week evening class, and Carlton was already looking forward to sixteen Wednesdays of relaxed, academic intimacy.

“No one?” he prompted again. Reluctantly a pretty blond girl in the front row raised her hand. “Fantastic! Would you like to explain the game to everyone, Miss…?”

“O’Hara,” the girl replied. “Juliet.”

Carlton checked her name off his attendance list and gestured to the rest of the class. “Please, do the honors.”

Juliet shifted slightly, facing her classmates. “Um, OK, well the point is to get to know each other while trying to deduce truth from fiction. So we each say three things about ourselves, but one of those things has to be a lie… and then the rest of us have to guess which thing is the lie.” She looked up at him for approval.

“Exactly! So, would you like to go first?” Juliet blushed furiously. “Oh, come on,” he coaxed, “you’re on a roll.” Stroking his bearded chin, he tipped an imaginary microphone in her direction.

Juliet folded her hands in front of her primly. “I was a cheerleader in high school, I’m originally from Miami and I can roller-skate like nobody’s business.”

Carlton chuckled and turned to the rest of his students. “OK, ladies and gentlemen – let the guessing begin!” The class was regarding Juliet, trying to decide which statement wasn’t true when a voice rang out from the back of the room.

“You’re not from Miami.”

Carlton looked up to see a student, older than the rest, with his feet propped on the desk in front of him, hands behind his head as he half-reclined in his chair. The position pulled his shirt up slightly, and a sliver of tanned skin peeked out from below the heather grey hem.

Not that Carlton noticed things like that about his students. Even the undeniably attractive ones.

Unlike the rest of the class, this student’s desk was bare. No notebooks, no pens, no syllabus, no textbook. He would’ve looked bored were it not for the smirk on his face. Carlton did his best to disguise his annoyance. He had no patience for slackers who didn’t take his class seriously.

“OK, so that’s one guess. Anyone else?”

“It wasn’t a guess, Professor,” the slacker said and Carlton didn’t miss the pretentious formality when the man used his academic title. “She’s not from Miami… well, not originally anyway. She may have been raised there, but she was born somewhere else. Bible belt state if I had to guess. Kentucky?”

Juliet’s gasp was audible and Carlton blinked at her, eyebrows raised. “I’m sorry, Professor,” she said quickly, “it’s just… how did you _do_ that!?”

“Wait, he’s right?” Carlton asked, abandoning the game entirely for the first time in his five semesters teaching this class.

“I was born in Louisville,” she said breathlessly. “My mom and I moved to Miami when I was six.” She looked back at her classmate with wide eyes. “Seriously, how did you do that?”

“I’m sure Mr…?”

“Shawn Spencer,” he answered and actually _winked_ at Carlton who absolutely did not feel a shiver work down his spine.

“Right. I’m sure Mr. Spencer will be happy to tell us his process.”

“I’m a psychic,” Spencer declared with a casual grin.

Carlton suppressed his eyeroll – or at least managed to until Juliet gasped (again) in awe.

“O-M-G are you for real?” She squealed.

Shawn burst out laughing, “No, of course not. That was my lie. The truth is I’m just really observant. You’ve got a slight drawl to your voice that doesn’t say ‘south Florida,’ you’re wearing a cross, but the length of your skirt doesn’t exactly scream ‘good Christian girl’ which means you were probably born in the Church but don’t go much these days, oh and you’ve got a keychain with the Kentucky Derby logo hanging off the zipper of your bag.” He paused for a moment. “I need another truth. Um… I’ve had the same best friend since I was five.” He nodded in accomplishment.

Carlton pinched the bridge of his nose. “Mr. Spencer, impressive – albeit sexist – as that was, the point of the game is for your classmates to guess the lie, not be told.”

Shawn grinned at him and rolled his shoulders in a lazy shrug. “I’ve played it both ways.”

Class continued with each student offering two their two truths and one lie but Shawn Spencer kept quiet in the back of the classroom. Carlton didn’t miss the way Juliet O’Hara kept herself angled toward Shawn, legs crossed under the short skirt he’d been so quick to point out. Carlton, divorced dog-owner, simply didn’t understand mating rituals of the twenty-somethings, despite his years in academia.

Although, Shawn didn’t seem to reciprocate Juliet’s attention. Every time Carlton looked back, Shawn was watching _him_ , a small, secretive smile playing across his features. After the game was complete, Carlton moved on to the run-down of the syllabus, the class’ online homework capture feature, and then into an abbreviated first-class lecture on the different forms of human deception. He felt Shawn’s eyes on him relentlessly.

Finally, at 8:55pm the alarm on Carlton’s phone sounded and he tapped the screen to dismiss it. “OK,” he said, pushing himself off his desk and clapping his hands together once, “homework!”

The class groaned.

“Oh, get over yourselves,” he said ruefully and his students chuckled. Good, good. This was a good bunch. “Homework: I want you to think of a lie from your childhood – not a tiny ‘no, Mom I swear I didn’t eat the last cookie’ lie – but a big one. Write it up, justify it and tell me what happened when you were caught. Submit that through _Blackboard_ before next class and we’ll go through them… anonymously of course.” He waved his hands at them in a ‘shoo’ motion and smiled. “All right, get out – see you next week!”

As the class filed out, conversing amongst themselves, Carlton gathered up his papers and notes, organizing them into his leather satchel before swinging it diagonally across his chest. He adjusted the bracelets on his left wrist and then paused a moment, searching for his glasses before realizing they were still sitting on his head. Annoyed, he yanked them off and stuffed them into the breast pocket of his untucked, blue Oxford shirt.

“Careful there, Professor,” a voice said from behind him and he spun around surprised. “I think you almost pulled out some of that fabulous hair, and wouldn’t that be a shame,” Spencer said, mouth quirked up in a half-smile.

Closer up, Carlton could see that Shawn was even more attractive than he’d originally thought. Sun-kissed hair, eyes an undefinable mix of blue-green-hazel and a full bottom lip that Carlton was aching to worry with his teeth.

Jesus Christ. Jesus _Christ_ , this was not good.

“Something I can do for you Shaw- Mr. Spencer?” _Reel it in, Jackass_ , Carlton thought to himself.

Shawn’s half-smile morphed into a full-on grin, eyes sparkling. He pulled a yellow lollipop from his pocket, unwrapped it and stuck it his mouth. “Nope,” he mumbled around the white stick, “just wanted to say ‘goodnight’.”

“Ah, yes. Goodnight then, Shawn. Mr. Spencer. We’ll, uh, see you next week.” Jesus fuck he sounded like a horny idiot.

Shawn grinned at him for another moment before sauntering toward the door, flicking a wink over his shoulder as he went. “Til next time, then,” he said and disappeared.

Carlton locked up the classroom and jogged up the three flights to the solace of his office. The room was dimly lit from the giant halogen lamps lining the quad. He sat down at his desk, not bothering to turn on his lamp, put his head down and pressed his cheek against the cool walnut surface.

He was so very, very screwed.

\--

The remainder of the first week of classes passed uneventfully, save the freshman in his Public Speaking class who’d freaked out during the introductions and stood stock still in the front of the room, mouth opening and closing like the world’s largest goldfish. “McNab,” he’d said gently, “why don’t you have a seat and we’ll try again next time, OK?” The young man had sighed gratefully before zooming back to his desk and trying quite fruitlessly to make himself small.

Carlton spent much of the weekend puttering around his small, comfortable house doing miscellaneous chores until Sunday evening found him relaxed on the couch, red pen in one hand, half-finished Old Fashioned in the other. His long legs were stretched out, sock-feet propped on the coffee table and a stack of half edited lesson plans in his lap. Next to him, his three-year-old German Shepherd snored raucously.

“Little louder there, Marlowe,” he murmured, putting the pen down and absentmindedly scratching behind the dog’s ear. “I don’t think the neighbors heard you.” Marlowe snuffled and rolled over, putting himself in prime belly rub positioning. Carlton chuckled and obliged him before polishing off his drink and setting the empty glass on the side table.

One hand across his stomach and the other resting on the warmth of Marlowe’s belly, Carlton tipped his head back and closed his eyes. As he mentally prepared for the week ahead he found his traitorous thoughts drifting to the bright-eyed Shawn Spencer. It had been a long time since anyone – male or female – had elicited such an immediate, powerful attraction and even longer since he’d been so tempted to act on it. Carlton’s disastrous marriage had taught him to enjoy autonomy and to crave solitude. Victoria had been needy and judgmental with an arrogant clinginess that was as contradictory as it was infuriating.

Carlton had divorced her out of emotional self-defense and when she’d finally signed the divorce papers (after a solid six months of guilt trips and begging) she laughed in his face and called him a waste of five years. ‘There are worse things than being alone,’ Bukowski once said and when he thought of Victoria he couldn’t agree more.

But then there was _Shawn_ … who sidled into Lassiter’s protective bubble with his quick wit, obvious intelligence and unassuming beauty. Shawn made him _want_. In the space of three hours the young man had meandered his way into Carlton’s brain, leaving him feeling unbalanced and lacking.

‘Student,’ his rational mind whispered. ‘ _Your_ student.’ Carlton squeezed his eyes closed tighter and willed himself to listen to reason.

It was going to be a long goddamn semester.

\--

Wednesday afternoon meant Office Hours and so Carlton sat in his office, grading quizzes from his morning classes and making himself generally available. He was correcting a student’s definition of ‘ethical rhetoric’ when there was a knock at his door. He waved the visitor in without looking up.

“Hey there, teach,” came a warm voice and Carlton felt its heat snake through his veins. He looked up to see Spencer leaning against the door frame; faded jeans slung low on his narrow hips, a soft-looking grey button-down open over a burgundy t-shirt and a black backpack over one shoulder. The lighting in the office made his eyes look green.

For fuck’s fucking sake.

“What can I do for you, Mr. Spencer?”

Shawn slid into the room and closed the door behind him before flopping into one of the chairs in front of Carlton’s desk and opening his backpack. He was listening to music; one earbud nestled into place, the other dangling down his front. The bridge from Van Halen’s ‘Hot for Teacher’ seeped from the loose earbud and Carlton briefly closed his eyes, willing the possible (but unlikely) implications of Shawn’s song choice away.

Shawn glanced up at him and then down at the earbud. “Oh, sorry man.” He turned off the iPod and shoved the whole thing into his backpack. “I don’t like having to make conversation walking around on campus so I keep those in pretty much all the time.” He continued rooting through folders before locating a single sheet of paper.

Carlton recognized the form immediately. It was a request for a change of faculty advisor and from the looks of it, it was already partially filled out.

“I, uh, was wondering if you’d be my advisor,” Shawn said and slid the form across Carlton’s desk.

Carlton blinked down at the form. “Why?” he blurted. “I mean… have you met with Professor Rand?” Christ, of _course_ he had, Declan Rand’s signature was on the damn form. Carlton took a breath. “Did you have a conversation with him before you asked for the form?”

Shawn nodded. “Look, he’s a nice enough guy – could stand to go easy on the guyliner – but he’s…” brows furrowed, Shawn paused, searching for the right word. “…dispassionate.”

Carlton leaned back, regarding his student carefully. “What are your goals here, Spencer?”

“Professionally or academically?”

So he _could_ be serious.

“Either, both.”

“I’d like to be a private investigator.” Shawn said, twisting a fold of his t-shirt between his fingers. “I think – I think it’s something I could be good at so I need to get my degree.” He looked away, licking his lips in either nervousness or embarrassment, Carlton couldn’t tell which.

“How much of the room did you read when you walked in?” Carlton asked and Shawn’s eyes snapped back to his looking wary. Carlton raised his eyebrows and looked at him, pointedly. _Show me what you can do,_ was the silent command.

Carlton watched as Shawn’s eyes slipped close and he raised his right hand, middle finger pressed to his temple. He was about to ask what that was for when Shawn’s mouth quirked into a grin. “Helps me focus,” he said quietly.

“OK, Shawn,” Carlton said in the same low voice.

Shawn’s grin faded and his brow furrowed in concentration. “There are two diplomas on the wall behind me: your Bachelor’s and your PhD… they’re only six years apart which means you took an accelerated graduate program. Kudos on that, by the way.” He cocked his head to the side. “Both degrees from the same school U of M in St. Louis, so you either _really_ like Missouri or it was close to home. I’m going to go with ‘close to home.’ You’re not married, but you used to be. You listen to a lot of classic rock, but you prefer vinyl to digital. You don’t actually need the glasses, but you wear them to look more academic.” Carlton was now watching Shawn in open fascination and was grateful the man’s eyes were still closed. “Oh, and you have a dog.”

Shawn popped his eyes open one at a time, grinning. “How’d I do?” he asked.

“You didn’t tell me what my doctorate was in,” Carlton said with a tight laugh, trying not to seem as impressed as he was.

“Criminology,” Shawn said immediately.

Carlton blinked at him. “Tell me how.”

“The degrees I saw when I walked in, between those and the tiny Cardinals baseball bat in your little pencil cup there, I figured you were probably from around St. Louis. You’ve got a nice collection of vinyl on the bottom shelf of your bookshelf and Buffalo Springfield’s second album is sitting on top of the record player behind you. There’s no perspective change behind your glasses which means the lenses have no prescription and there’s a lint roller sticking out of your manpurse over there.” He leaned forward a bit, “What is that? Great Dane?”

“German Shepherd,” said Carlton before he could stop himself. Shawn just nodded.

_Wait a minute._

“Wait a minute,” Carlton repeated, aloud this time. “How did you know I was divorced?” he asked and watched a lovely blush stain Shawn’s neck.

“Oh.”

“Spencer.” He put a note of warning in his tone and Shawn’s blush spread to his cheeks.

“I googled you,” he mumbled.

“You googled me.”

Shawn half shrugged and nodded. “I found pictures… looked like faculty events. You were with a woman in some and you had matching wedding rings, but in the more recent pictures it’s just you and…” he gestured to Carlton’s bare left ring finger, “no ring.”

_Don’t make too much of that. Don’t make too much of that. Don’t make too much of that._

“If you looked me up online,” Carlton deflected, “you could have easily found out about my credentials and my hometown from the University’s faculty page.”

Shawn nodded, “I could have, but I didn’t. I just wanted to see pictures.” His eyes widened a bit at that admission, the pretty blush on his cheeks darkening.

Carlton stared at Shawn for a long moment, but to his student’s credit, he didn’t look away. There was something undefinable weaving in and out of those multi-faceted eyes. “I’m trying to decide,” Carlton finally said with a small grin, “if that is flattering or creepy.”

Shawn breathed out a relieved laugh and Carlton joined him.

“So, back to your request…” Carlton rested his elbows on his desk, fingers tented together. “I’m not sure I agree with your assessment that Professor Rand is ‘dispassionate’ per se, but he can be… serene and that might be a good match for you.” Masochistically desperate as Carlton was to spend more time with Shawn, doing so was only going to end up with Carlton getting hurt... or fired. Even tenured professors knew better than to sleep with their students. Even if by some miracle Shawn wanted him back, he was so very, very off-limits.

Completely and utterly one hundred percent off limits.

Right?

Shawn shook his head. “There’s a difference between serene and boring,” he said with a scowl. “The guy had Kenny G CDs on his desk, teach. Kenny effin’ G. You can’t subject me that, man.”

“Mr. Spencer,” Carlton scolded. There had to be a way out of this. “I don’t advise underclassmen,” he said lamely and Shawn grinned at him again.

“Well, I guess it’s a good thing I’m a first semester junior, huh?” Interpreting Carlton’s look of confusion, Shawn clarified “This isn’t my first time through,” he explained with a small shrug.

Carlton’s curiosity overwhelmed any sense of reason left in his Shawn-addled brain. “Tell me.”

So, Shawn told him. The controlling father, the absent mother, the distance he put between himself and almost everyone once it became clear that he was different; once they realized what he could gather, what he could _know_ and retain after only a few moments. How his father pushed him toward a Criminal Justice degree, planning his future on 3x5 cards: college and the Academy and a bright career as a police officer upholding law and order. How Shawn burned out a few weeks into his third year of college. How he ran, to quite literally the ends of the earth, to find penguins in Argentina. How he spent six months backpacking through Europe trying to figure out what he wanted.

“And did you?” Carlton interrupted, “figure out what you wanted?”

Shawn’s fingers twitched around the neck of an imaginary guitar. “Opening act for _Tears for Fears_ , man! I was gonna be epic.” He took in Carlton’s skeptical look. “OK, fair enough. I did manage to talk my way backstage during a concert in Sheffield though. Professed my love to Curt,” he paused, looking a little dreamy. “I think the restraining order might still be in effect.”

He smiled, brilliantly, and Carlton was helpless to smile back. This young man was going to be the death of him.

“Can’t say that I blame you,” Carlton said without thinking, “although I think Roland might be the handsomer of the two.”

Shawn’s eyes widened slightly and Carlton was very glad that the flush creeping up his neck would be largely hidden by his beard. “Uh, anyway,” he said, tucking his hair behind his ears, “back to the topic at hand. Why did you come back?”

“To Santa Barbara or to school?”

“Yes.”

Shawn chuckled. “This is home, man. For all its bad memories… it’s home. Besides, Gus is here.” Carlton felt a ridiculous stab of jealousy before Shawn continued. “Dude’s had my back since we were five. You don’t abandon that.”

Ah, the best friend.

“Look, my dad went about it the wrong way, but he was right about what I can do and I _want_ to do it, I just want to do it _my_ way.”

“No, I understand,” Carlton said and he really did. Few things were worse than having someone else plan your life. “Look, Shawn, Professor Rand might not be the most exciting personality, I suppose, but he was an FBI profiler for years before he started teaching. He could be a valuable resource for you.”

Shawn regarded him quietly for a long moment before speaking. “I don’t want him,” he said softly. “I want you.”

And really, how the christing fuck was Carlton supposed to say ‘no’ to that? He looked at Shawn, admiring the hope and anticipation in his gorgeous eyes and made what was possibly going to be the worst decision of his career.

He signed the form.

\--

Class that night was an exercise in control as Carlton forced himself to pay attention to all of his students, not just the young man lounging in the back of the classroom. Again, Shawn’s desk was bare, backpack unopened on the floor next to him.

Carlton had prepared a PowerPoint presentation with individual slides for the homework assignments that had been turned in. One by one they went through the lies and justifications ranging anywhere from blaming the cleaning lady for breaking an expensive crystal Christmas ornament to cheating on an AP test and almost getting expelled.

Finally he reached Shawn’s contribution. The name was removed, of course, but Carlton remembered. He read the story aloud, how Shawn pointed the finger a bully for hitting a teacher with a spitball (despite not actually witnessing it for himself) and how the bully was thrown out of school and eventually sent away. Years later, Shawn found out he was wrong; the kid hadn’t done it.

“Now, some people would consider this a mistake, rather than a lie,” Carlton said from his usual perch on top of his desk. “Why do you think your classmate is calling himself a liar?”

“He’s not a liar! I mean he really thought the kid did it and he saw him with the straw,” Juliet – who throughout the lesson had shown herself to be the kind of person who saw the good in everyone – said quickly.

“Yeah!” agreed Bianca, Juliet’s tiringly vivacious sorority sister. “It wasn’t a lie, it was an untruth; those don’t always have to be unintentional.”

Why, oh why did they have to read ahead?

The class went back and forth for a while, arguing about the oxymoronic and semantic nature of the unintentional lie before Shawn himself finally spoke up.

“He didn’t see it!”

Carlton inhaled sharply. Shawn was sitting bolt upright, staring at a fixed point on the far wall. “Mr. Spencer?” he asked gently.

“He didn’t see it. He didn’t actually _see_ it happen, but he lied and said he did. He _lied_ and he was wrong and the fucking kid got sent away to fuck knows where because of a damn _lie_.” Juliet and a few other students looked scandalized by Shawn’s language, but Carlton ignored the profanity. This was a college class, not grade school. They were all adults.

He was also fascinated by Shawn’s intensity.

“Dude, it was an accident,” said another student. _Ryan_ , Carlton’s memory supplied. “I’ve told like a million lies in my life and they don’t count if they’re accidental.”

“They count,” Shawn said quietly.

Before anyone could argue Carlton’s phone sounded 8:55pm, signaling the end of class. “Chapter two quiz next week – be prepared, and no lies about dogs eating your textbooks!”

The class packed up and filed out while Carlton shut down the equipment and gathered his things together. He felt Shawn behind him before his student spoke.

“I really did think it was him,” he said quietly, “but I knew I could’ve been wrong and I accused him anyway because I wanted him to go away. I _wanted_ him kicked out of school for being such a jerk to me and Gus…” Shawn let out a bitter laugh. “The irony of all of this is that Gus told me a few years later that _he_ was the one who launched the damn spitball.”

“What happened to the bully?”

Shawn shrugged, still not meeting his eyes. “Dunno.”

“Shawn,” Carlton said softly, “you were just a kid. Besides, if you’d seen your best friend do it, would you have turned him in?”

“Of course not!”

“That’s a lie of omission, isn’t it?”

Shawn shrugged again but looked up at him. “I guess.”

“So either way, in either scenario, you end up lying. Sometimes there’s just no good outcome.”

Slowly, Shawn reached up and plucked the glasses from the top of Carlton’s head, smoothing down the hair that drifted out of place. Folding the glasses carefully, he slipped them into Carlton’s shirt pocket.

“It’s not really about the lie, teach. I just don’t like hurting people,” and then Shawn was gone.

Carlton could still feel the warmth of his touch.

Yes, he was absolutely, completely and irrevocably fucked.

 

_TBC…_


	2. Teacher Don't You See?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Like most colleges, UCSB maintains a maximum of 18 credits per semester. However, students can request an override to be overloaded to 21. Doing so is difficult but manageable. Doing so four semesters in a row is soul-crushing. I speak, unfortunately, from experience. I may have grafted a bit of my mother onto Henry Spencer for the previous chapter.
> 
> All descriptions of the UCSB campus are accurate. Check this out for reference: http://www.aw.id.ucsb.edu/maps/

\--

After classes on Thursday Carlton’s curiosity got the better of him. In his capacity as Shawn’s advisor, or so he managed to convince himself, he delved into student records and pulled Shawn’s grades and class credits from his first tour as a UCSB student. He could see immediately why the poor kid had burned out. All four semesters of his first two years were overloaded to 21 credits. Digging a bit deeper he found the override petitions and made a note of the approval signatures: Professor James Dubois. Jim had retired during Carlton’s second year teaching but they belonged to the same academic councils and maintained a professional acquaintance.

Tabbing into his email, Carlton shot off a request for anything Jim could remember about Shawn Spencer. He moved back to Shawn’s transcripts and scrolled down to the recorded grades. Eyes wide, he continued scrolling and then scrolled more.

A’s. Nothing but A’s. In every single class. In classes he didn’t even want to take, with an overloaded schedule planned by someone else, Shawn had maintained a perfect 4.0.

He was still staring at the transcripts when there was a tap on his office door. He glanced up to see a familiar face poking through. “Please, Declan, come right in,” Carlton said dryly.

“Don’t mind if I do.” Declan sidled in and took a seat on the leather couch running along the wall opposite Carlton’s desk. He crossed his legs primly, hands laced together on his knee.

After a moment of silence, Carlton tabbed to his desktop and turned around. “Is there a reason your ass is planted on my couch?”

“So,” Declan began as though Carlton hadn’t spoken, “Shawn Spencer.”

Oh, for _Christ._

Carlton affected what he hoped was a neutral expression. “Yes?”

“Academic Services notified me that his request for a new advisor was approved.”

“Did they?”

“They did.” The grin Declan was flashing at him could only be described as ‘shit-eating.’ “They also said you were his new advisor.”

A well-time natural disaster would have been preferable to the look of amused interest on Declan’s face. A comet perhaps; a flood of mythic proportions, or maybe a precision lightning strike that hit only the square of couch currently occupied by a former FBI profiler who knew Carlton too fucking well.

“He felt I would be a better fit for his academic goals,” Carlton said calmly. “Don’t tell me you’re actually offended.”

Declan raised his eyebrows. “More like… intrigued. We’ve been colleagues a long time, Carlton and in all these years you have never, ever signed a change request.”

Of _course_ he would know that.

“Declan,” Carlton said wearily.

“He’s quite pretty as well.”

“Declan!”

“Just making an observation!”

Carlton practically growled at him. “Feel free to keep those to yourself.”

Declan dismissed his irritation with a casual wave. “Now, I have to ask, because it’s been driving me up the wall. He’s in my Tuesday/Thursday Social Perception and he just sits there.” Declan leaned forward, almost conspiratorially. “I mean, he doesn’t takes notes, he never gets the textbook out. What’s up with that?”

“You’re the profiler, why are you asking me?”

Declan frowned. “I can’t get a clear read on him. He’s obviously intelligent, but I can’t pin down much else. We only spoke for a few minutes after he asked me to sign the change request form and he chose his words very carefully.” Declan paused a moment and then shrugged. “Honestly, Carlton – I think he read me better than I read him.”

“Really?” _Wait a minute_. “Wait, you didn’t meet with him _before_ he asked for a new advisor?”

Declan probably couldn’t have grinned any wider without pulling a muscle. “Carlton, he walked in with the form filled out and ready to go. I never even had a chance.”

Carlton just stared at him.

“Well, I’ve got to get going,” Declan hopped up and headed toward the door, “but hey, if you manage to crack him let me know. He’s a fascinating kid.”

“He’s not a kid,” Carlton snapped before he could stop himself.

Declan turned, eyebrows all but disappearing into his hairline. “No,” he said gently. “I guess he’s not.” He paused at the threshold for a moment as if he wanted to ask something, but instead he stepped out and closed the door behind him, leaving Carlton alone with his thoughts.

“Oh, fuck my life,” he said to the empty room.

\--

It would be almost a full week later before he saw Shawn again. Like most academic advisors, Carlton kept a sign-up sheet on outside his office, allowing students to pencil themselves in for appointments. At some point between Carlton’s departure on Friday afternoon and arrival on Monday morning, Shawn’s name appeared under “Wednesday, 5pm.”

Leaving Carlton to deal with fifty-seven hours of anticipation.

Fifty-seven hours that felt like fifty-seven years given how slowly time seemed to crawl.

Monday was relatively uneventful. He received an email response from Jim that simply said:

_Shawn Spencer: bloody brilliant young man. His father was an overbearing ass. Keep me in the loop!_

“Thanks, Jim,” he grumbled at his computer screen, “that was a wealth of information.”

On Tuesday, the frightened freshman in his Public Speaking class managed to get through his introductory speech, during which the class learned that he planned on attending the Police Academy and that he and his girlfriend had recently adopted a kitten and named him ‘Little Boy Cat.’ The class cheered and clapped for him as he shuffled back to his seat, red-faced but smiling.

Things felt good. Normal. Controlled.

But, in the wee hours of Wednesday morning Carlton dreamed. In his dream, Shawn was splayed naked on the desk in their classroom. He stroked himself languidly, murmuring curses and encouragements while Carlton thrust in and out of him, slow and steady. Around them, the rest of his students took notes and discussed the various ways in which they could lie to cover up the encounter. From the doorway, Declan gave him a double thumbs up. Juliet watched from her seat and praised his technique. As Dream!Carlton’s orgasm approached he looked down to see that it wasn’t Shawn underneath him anymore, but _Victoria_. Her face was a mask of cruelty as she laughed at him. Carlton woke sitting bolt upright, gasping and drenched in a cold sweat.

From his bed in the corner, Marlowe looked up, whining low in his throat at his master’s distress. “It’s OK, boy,” he whispered. “I’m OK.” Clearly unconvinced, Marlowe got up and padded over, nosing at Carlton’s hand until he patted the bed. “Come on, then,” he sighed. Marlowe leapt up and snuggled along his side. Warmed by his best friend, Carlton fell into an uneasy doze until his alarm woke him a few hours later.

He drifted through his morning classes in a daze, vaguely aware that his capacity for creating meticulous lesson plans was his current – and only – saving grace.

That, and coffee. Lots and lots of coffee. With obscene amounts of cream and sugar.

By the time 5 o’clock rolled around, Carlton was a wreck. This was a terrible idea. Literally the worst idea he’d ever had. The relationship between advisor and advisee was practically sacred and required _trust_. At this point, Carlton didn’t even trust himself around Shawn, so the idea of expecting _Shawn_ to trust him seemed ludicrous.

When Shawn tapped at his office door and let himself in, Carlton seriously considered faking an illness and fleeing to the safety of his car where he could breathe and think about anyone, anything other than his student. But then he looked up at Shawn’s soft smile and multi-hued eyes and gave in.

“Evening, Shawn. Please have a seat,” Carlton said, gesturing to the chairs in front of his desk.

“Um, actually…” Shawn was eyeing the couch. “I’ve got a ton of papers I was hoping to go through and I don’t want us to spend the next half hour trying to see everything sideways. Can we sit over here?” Without waiting for a response he sank into the soft leather and pulled what looked like half a ream of paper out of his backpack.

“Uh, sure.” Carlton sat down on the opposite end of the couch. Shawn looked over, amused, before sliding across to sit right next to him. Willing his body not to react to Shawn’s proximity, Carlton looked at the documents Shawn was shuffling through.

“OK, so I brought the transcripts from when I was here about eight years ago. I checked with the Registrar before I officially re-enrolled and all of these credits stand so I’m technically a first semester junior.” He paused. “But, I told you that already, sorry.”

“That’s all right. I’m glad you’re on top of things.” Carlton said, pleased. “A lot of my advisees expect me to do everything for them. Your initiative is refreshing.”

Shawn’s smile could’ve rivaled the sun for warmth and brilliance. Carlton was relatively certain that had he not been sitting down, his knees would’ve given out. He smiled back at Shawn and for a moment they just sat there, grinning at each other.

After a bit, Shawn cleared his throat and shook his head. “Jeez teach, warn a guy before you shine those baby blues like that.”

Carlton honestly had no response to that and he watched a flash of embarrassment move through Shawn’s eyes before he turned back to his papers. He wanted to soothe him, tell him it was OK, but he couldn’t find the words to do it without crossing that invisible line between teacher and student; advisor and advisee.

“Anyway,” Shawn continued, “my grades were pretty good and most of the classes I took back then were one and two hundred level liberal arts stuff. History and science and all those things you want to get out of the way early, you know?”

Carlton nodded. “I see you had Professor Strode for Biology.” Woody Strode was one of UC Santa Barbara’s more eccentric professors and Carlton was curious what a young Shawn Spencer had made of him.

Shawn laughed. “Oh yeah, I loved that guy! He made up this song for all the bones in the human body and sang it while dancing with a life-sized plastic skeleton.”

It was Carlton’s turn to laugh. “He’s got something going on with that skeleton I think. I saw him in the parking lot last week and I swear it was buckled into the backseat of his car.”

“The Wood-man’s still here?” Shawn exclaimed happily. “That’s twisted by the way, the car thing.”

“Twisted indeed, but yes, he’s still here. He’s the department chair now.” _God_ , but Shawn was easy to talk to.

Shawn grinned. “Good for that dude. I should swing by and say ‘hello.’ Is the Science Department still in Noble?”

“Yes, that’s – “

“Over by the faculty parking garage off Lagoon.” Shawn tapped his forehead. “Campus map is still up here.”

Carlton nodded and then something Shawn said earlier came back to him. “I’m sorry, but did you refer to your grades as ‘pretty good’?” He shuffled through to the final page and tapped Shawn’s cumulative GPA which clearly read ‘4.0’.

Shawn shrugged at him. “It’s no big deal.”

“No big – Shawn! You completed eighty-four credits in two years with perfect grades. If you’d hung in there you would’ve graduated a full semester early!”

Carlton knew immediately that he’d said the wrong thing. Shawn’s expression darkened and he backed across the couch, crossing his arms defensively. “Believe me, I’ve heard that argument, ad-fucking-nauseam. I didn’t care then and I don’t care now. One more semester like that and I was going to dive off the goddamn pier!”

 _Shit._ “Shawn… I’m sorry. I didn’t mean – “ Carlton sighed, mentally berating himself.

“Just hang in there, Shawn. You don’t want to be a quitter, do you, Shawn? Stop complaining, Shawn, this is 10th grade all over again.” Breath hitching and clearly quoting his father, Shawn scrubbed a hand across his face and fell silent.

Afraid of making things worse, Carlton sat quietly and waited for Shawn to recover.

“I’m sorry,” he said after several minutes. He was looking down at his hands, picking at a fingernail.

“It’s all right,” Carlton replied immediately. “I shouldn’t have said anything, it was insensitive.”

“Not your fault, man. I guess I’m still mad at myself for bottling it up for so long, for pretending so long.” Shawn tipped his head back against the couch cushion. “I’m a fucking coward,” he whispered.

Carlton looked over and met his eyes. “No,” he said in what he hoped was a low, soothing voice. “I sincerely doubt that.”

The other man didn’t respond, but his expression softened and his tense frame visibly relaxed. Carlton’s fingers itched to touch him, to trace his fingers across that smooth skin and see if it was as warm and soft as he imagined it was.

_Pull your-fucking-self together!_

“Shawn, if I may – and you don’t have to answer if it’s none of my business – but if you were so unhappy, why did you put up with it for so long?”

Shawn shrugged at him. “It was easier to work my ass off than listen to my dad bitch about not living up to his expectations.” He glanced at Carlton with a hint of shame on his face. “I sorta kinda fucked off a lot in high school. I pulled it together senior year and everything, but I’m pretty sure I was admitted here on the strength of my personal essay.” He paused a moment. “And the 1600 on my SAT.”

Carlton huffed out a small laugh. “Honestly, I’m not even surprised.”

Shawn blushed at him, and slid back across the couch. “Yeah, anyway, I highlighted the classes that will carry over to my new major so we can see what I do and don’t need to take.”

Together they worked through a tentative list of courses Shawn would need to complete his degree, moving things around based on semester availability and number of credit hours. Before they knew it the alarm on Carlton’s phone was going off, signaling ten ‘til six.

Shawn blinked down at his watch. “Holy shit, teach. I’m sorry. We really ran over.”

“That’s all right,” Carlton said, smiling at him reassuringly. “We had a lot of work to do.” He looked at their notes. “Can I hang on to these until next time? I want to run them through the system and make sure we didn’t miss anything.”

Shawn laughed. “Yes please, the last thing I need is to petition for graduation and find out I’m a credit shy or something.”

Carlton watched Shawn gather up the rest of his things. “Can I ask you something?”

“Sure,” Shawn replied without looking up.

“I spoke with Professor Rand last week and he mentioned that you already had the change request form when you went to your first meeting.”

Shawn went very still. “Did he?”

“Yes.”

“Look, I didn’t lie to you.” Shawn stood up, backpack slung over his shoulder and moved nervously toward the door. “I had Rand the day before. I’m in his-“

“Social Perception. He told me.”

Shawn nodded quickly. “You asked if I talked to him before asking for the form and technically I did. We spoke after class and he wasn’t – I didn’t – I could tell that it wasn’t going to work.”

Carlton regarded him quietly.

“I know I made it sound like he and I had an actual conversation about me switching and I’m sorry I just… I didn’t think you’d sign the form otherwise.”

“So you twisted the truth.”

Shawn nodded miserably. “I guess that _is_ a lie, huh?”

Carlton got up and walked over to him, opening his office door. “It’s called a Lie of Commission.”

Shawn looked down at his feet and bit his lip. “I’m really sorry. I shouldn’t have done that.”

Without thinking, Carlton reached out his hand and tipped Shawn’s head up. “It’s OK, Shawn. Just don’t do it again, all right?” The fingers against his chin drifted slightly and Carlton found himself all but _caressing_ Shawn’s throat. When he realized what he was doing, he went to yank his hand away, but Shawn, eyes wide with understanding and _interest,_ caught it and held it against his chest.

_JesusHolyMaryMotherofGodFuckingChristWhatWasHappening._

“If…” Shawn said softly. “I was I was thinking something really important but failed to tell you, would that be a lie?”

“No,” Carlton answered automatically, surprised he could speak at all. “You weren’t asked a direct question.”

“Oh,” Shawn murmured. “So you don’t want to know what I want to do right now.” His eyes were hazy and he was breathing faster than normal.

Carlton’s mouth went dry. It took a very long time for him to muster enough coherence to speak. “Tell me.”

Shawn pushed the office door closed again and stepped closer, right into Carlton’s personal space, close enough that his warm breath fluttered the wiry hairs of Carlton’s beard.

“I was thinking,” he whispered, his eyes flicking to Carlton’s mouth, “that I would really like to kiss you right now.” He reached up with his free hand and gently tugged on a stray lock of Carlton’s hair. “I also think that you might kiss me back.”

_Christ. Jesus Christ._

Carlton groaned and leaned down a bit, pressing their foreheads together. They were so achingly close that if Carlton were to lick his lips, he’d be licking Shawn’s as well. “Shawn,” he breathed, “you’re my student.”

“I’m a grown man,” Shawn argued, “and if I want to kiss you…” he whispered his next words directly into Carlton’s ear. “If I just fucking _want_ you…” He pulled back and looked up into Carlton’s eyes. “Then what’s stopping us?”

_Fuck. Fuck. Fuck. Fuck. Fuck. Fuck FUCK._

Carlton took a huge step away and the backs of his legs touched the couch they’d abandoned. “Shawn, look, I’m not blind, OK? You’re beautiful and you’re smart and I’m not going to lie and say I’m not attracted to you, but-“

Shawn smiled sadly. “Yeah, I get it.” He looked away. “You don’t have to let me down easy, teach.”

“I’m not – that’s not what I’m doing, Shawn.” He took a deep breath, trying to rein himself in. “There are rules in place about things like this, about student-professor fraternization.”

“That’s true,” Shawn agreed reasonably and then horrifyingly, he _quoted the policy:_ “It is unacceptable for professors to enter into a romantic or sexual relationship with a student for whom they have any teaching, evaluative or supervisory responsibility.”

Carlton nodded. “The penalties-“

“You get fired, I get kicked out. I know.” Shawn closed the distance between them and gently touched Carlton’s wrist, ghosting his fingers over the bracelets gathered there. He wondered if Shawn could feel his pulse quicken. “Do you know what else I know?” Shawn asked softly.

Mesmerized, Carlton shook his head. “What else do you know?”

“There are only thirteen weeks left in this semester.”

Carlton blinked at him. “Yes, I suppose that’s true,” he said slowly.

“I’m not taking any of your classes next semester.” Shawn looked at him pointedly. “Or the semester after that. Or… ever again.”

Oh.

_Oh._

Despite the improbability of the entire conversation, Carlton still found himself needing to clarify something and cleared his throat. “Shawn?”

“Yeah?” He cocked his head, the intensity in his eyes pinning Carlton in place. 

“I – I don’t do casual relationships.”

“Imagine that,” Shawn said, a slow, seductive smile spreading across his face. “Neither do I.” Shawn glanced at his watch again. “You’re officially late for class,” he said, grinning. “Guess I’ll see you there.”

He slipped out of the office, leaving Carlton alone and staring at the empty space he’d left behind wondering – and not for the first time – what the actual fuck had just happened.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A “Lie of Commission” is a real, but obscure, kind of lie that involves altering the truth to lead the listener to an incorrect conclusion.
> 
> The policy Shawn quotes is the actual policy that forbids student/professor relationships on all University of California campuses.
> 
> To the best of my knowledge, Woody/Kurt Fuller has never had a skeleton buckled into the backseat of his car. TimOm on the other hand... https://twitter.com/Omundson/status/790352578802581508


End file.
